Free Zombie Dawn Outbreak by Michael G. Thomas Page A

Richards.
    “Look like zombies to me, Sarge,” said Matt.
    “Don’t be ridiculous, this isn’t a movie. We’re in a shit storm and you’re living in TV land again,” said Richards.
    “He’s right, I don’t know how or why, but look at the facts,” said Gary.
    “Sounds like shite to me, but fuck it, I’ve had enough,” said Richards.
    He swung his baton down onto the man’s head and it connected with force, making his body go limp against the shield. He pulled it back and the body slumped to the ground. The two other attackers were already trying to get back up, ignoring their injuries.
    “Fuck this, let’s move on, leave those two,” said Richards.
    “What?” said Matt.
    “We’ve done enough damage already, I want some more answers before we start killing and maiming more civilians,” said Richards.
    “Well fuck that, these are animals,” said Matt.
    “You don’t know that, get going, that’s an order,” said Richards.
    The four men moved on, despite the two people doing their utmost to get back on their feet to take hold of them. Fortunately, for whatever reason, they were too slow to keep up with the group. About three hundred yards on they could see a man on the ground, he was still moving slightly, clearly injured. They approached him with caution.
    Richards knelt down beside the man. He’d clearly been bitten on the side of the neck, a deep wound. Blood was pouring from it. He was desperately trying to apply pressure to stop the bleeding but he was getting weaker. Seeing the policeman kneel beside him he tried to ask for help, but couldn’t get a word out.
    Richards knew it was too late for the man, but he put pressure on his throat, simply so the man could die knowing he wasn’t alone. A few seconds later the light from the man’s eyes faded and he stopped moving completely, his arms went limp. Richards looked up at his friends, sorrowful. It was truly a dark day.
    “What the hell is going on here?” asked Richards.
    “It’s the end of the world,” said Rob.
    “Quit that religious crap, mate, nobody buys it,” said Matt.
    “But it’s an apocalypse,” said Rob.
    The dead man suddenly awoke and grabbed Richards’s hand and bit hard into the glove. The Kevlar re-enforced gloves had substantial slice protection and blunt trauma to the back of the hand, but the palms were thin, affording a good grip. The man’s lower jaw pierced the glove and drove into his palm. The sergeant gave out a cry of pain.
    “You fucker!” shouted Richards.
    He picked up his baton and slammed it into the man’s forehead, knocking him back to the ground. He hit him again and again until the man’s face was flattened and a bloodied pulp. He finally stopped the onslaught and stood up, cradling his wounded left hand.
    “What the hell just happened?” asked Richards.
    “He was a zombie,” said Matt.
    “What do you mean was a zombie?” asked Gary.
    “That man died and came back to life as a biting fucker,” said Matt.
    “What does all this mean?” asked Richards.
    “All those bitten by zombies become them,” said Matt.
    “Bullshit, according to who?” asked Richards.
    “Look I didn’t make up the rules, that’s what happens in the movies,” said Matt.
    “It would explain how this riot turned into a fully fledged disaster so quickly,” said Gary.
    “So am I just going to die and then come back to life?” asked Richards.
    “We don’t know that yet,” said Rob.
    “Fuck this, let’s go,” said Richards.
    Matt and Gary shot a look at each other. Richards was the smartest and toughest man they’d known, but he may have just succumbed to the disease that would make him a flesh eating monster, it was a troubling thought. They finally reached the station where they were based. The main door was smashed, the windows too. A thing, like the last ones, stood outside the building.
    “What do we do?” asked Matt.
    “About the zombie?” asked Richards.
    “Kill the bitch,” said